Inside the Mind of a Homicidal Vampire
by Emily Darcy
Summary: Ever wonder what is running through the mind of Damon Salvatore when he's killing pretty girls?   One-shot about what Damon is thinking as he drinks the blood of Andy the reporter in the episode "Daddy Issues".


Damon

"Just be my distraction," I murmur, because I don't want to think any more. Not about Elena, or Katherine, or even myself – I'm tired of thinking, and I'm tired of _feeling._

At first, the taste of her lips is enough of a diversion, and I let my mind dwell on her and her alone; the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin… But as I pay less and less attention, I have less and less control. My mind gives over to my body, throwing emotions and pain out the widow, taking caution and common sense with them. But I don't care – after all, that's what I've been searching for this whole time, isn't it? - To forget, and not care, and not _exist_.

After a minute, I forget who I was missing, and what I was pretending to be – I feel nothing; nothing but thirst. My throat aches, and my jaw feels too tight, and a small voice in my head points out that this softness against my lips is there for me to drink. Just a quick bite and the pain will go away, and maybe I'll disappear with it.

Just as I'm about to do this – because why wouldn't I? I'm thirsty, and someone provided me with a lovely smelling drink – another, more nagging voice tells me to think. To remember who I am, what I'm supposed to do. The girl I'm doing it for.

_Elena…_

But with the name and the memory of brown eyes comes the pain again – because she isn't mine, she never will be, and there's nothing I can do but let it happen. No matter how badly I want her for my own, deep down, even_ I _couldn't ruin the happiness she has with my brother. I have to be 'the nice guy' now. And nice guys don't kill pretty news casters, no matter how good they smell.

But I'm tired of thinking, and choosing. I just want to _act, _and watch things _react._ I am the hunter, and this girl is the prey, and that's the circle of life. I'm tired of having to weigh decisions before I make them. I'm tired of having a set of morals before me that I have to live by, despite the fact that being a vampire _clearly_ means the end of being guilty. _I've earned the right to make my own decisions. _

I turn my brain off for good this time, and the voice chants again how sweet she smells, reminding me how good it feels to feel another person's life running through my veins.

My throat flares, and I grin, my teeth pointing out, relieving the tension in my jaw. One quick poke of my teeth into her soft skin, and the sweet, warm liquid is in my mouth, cooling the burning in my throat. It's beautiful – I don't have to think. This is instinctive; easy. No feeling involved. There is no right or wrong, good or bad decisions – there is only the hunter, and the prey unfortunate enough to have trusted him.

At first, she tries to pull away a little, and I can feel the fear in her, quiet but there, insisting that this is bad, that _I_ am bad. And I love it. I love her fear, because it pushes me further still from Damon Salvatore, the man who has to feel, no matter how hard he tries not to. And right now, I don't _have_ to feel. I turn it all off, relishing the blissful simplicity of being nothing but a predator.

I briefly open my eyes, and I see a small line of red trailing from her neck down her back, but it doesn't matter, because I have enough as it is. She's done pulling away, now. She arches her back, allowing me full access. I wonder if she's giving up, or just losing consciousness and leaning towards the only solid thing – but who cares? My throat isn't sore, my emotions are gone, and I am nothing but the unfeeling creature I strive to be.

But when I open my eyes again a moment later, I see that the little trail of blood dripping down her back is now a stream, and her skin looks pale, and I'm positive she's going to pass out soon. I feel her swaying a little, then leaning heavily on me, because there's nowhere else for her to go.

When my appetite is curbed, I hear a voice too loud for my comfort telling me to stop, to make her wounds stop bleeding, and to take her home. The voice tells me I don't want to do this – it tells me I don't want to kill another girl.

_What is she to me?_ I wonder, but that voice pulls at my strings, and I vaguely remember something about being a nice guy… _But why would that matter? I am a hunter. _

Except I'm more; I'm Damon Salvatore, she is living human being, and she shouldn't have to suffer. She doesn't know what I'm going through, and she shouldn't have to.

_Yes she should! Everyone should suffer like I have – and then Elena would see that I _can't _be the nice guy. She would finally understand that after all of this, I cannot possibly trust people, or be trustworthy. Why should I suffer, if this stupid human doesn't have to?_

But it wouldn't make a difference – Elena would still be Stefan's. I would still be alone with my pain, and trying my best not to show it. I would still feel the slash to my chest every time she looks at _him,_ when she should look at _me. _And I can't go back to believing Katherine is worth my time, any more than I can bring back Rose. I'm cursed to live alone, and watch everyone else live happily with each other, see the smiles on their faces, because they aren't me, and they don't know pain.

_And killing this girl won't change any of that,_ says the persistent little voice, and I surrender, pulling my teeth out of her soft skin. She immediately passes out against me, her dead weight threatening to slip into the half full tub, but I catch her up in my arms, rolling my eyes at the weakness of human bodies.

I press my hand against the teeth marks engraved in her flesh, doing my best to staunch the bleeding. After a moment or two, her body repairs the bite enough to stop the blood flow, and I scoop her dripping, limp body in my arms. I carry her to my bed, laying her down on the silk sheets, probably ruining them, but money isn't an issue, and even if it was I don't care right now.

I don't particularly like this wilted little human, despite her beauty; but if I'm going to be 'the nice guy' for Elena, I guess I should start with not killing her. Even if taking her life would be a nice escape from the world, if only for a minute more.

Her eye lids flutter open, and she looks around the room, dazed. "What happened?" she asks, voice hushed.

I look at her for a moment, and I know that this is the moment I have to decide. I could take the easy way out, and snap her little neck just for the fun of it. Or I could be the man Elena wants me to be – the one she wouldn't love any more than she loves the one I am now – and just take her home. Or, at the very least, dry her off, give her some clothes, and hand her the car keys and tell her to go. Either way, I want her gone as soon as possible. Distractions don't work for long enough, and this one is getting stale.

I sigh, catching her gaze and leaning in closer. "You bumped your head on the side of the tub," I tell her, and I see her expression go blank as I place the memory in her brain. "You passed out, and now you want to go home."

"I want to go home…" she mumbles through the fog of her brain, her eyes wide and childlike.

"You're embarrassed about what happened," I continue. "You will never talk to me again."

She nods, absently standing up and fumbling her way to the bathroom. I don't wait to see that she makes it to her house – hell, I don't stay long enough to see if she made it out of the bathroom. As soon as she closes the door, I leave the house, running as fast as I can, until I'm just a smudge on the dark canvas of the night.


End file.
